


A Friday Night in Swindon Town

by vgersix



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale is a Terrifying Force of Nature, Crowley Has Strong Opinions About Music, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Demon Summoning, Gen, M/M, Movie Night, Post-Canon, Witchcraft, You're Not Yourself When You're Hungry Here Have a Snickers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:08:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24290338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vgersix/pseuds/vgersix
Summary: Friday nights in Swindon can get a bit boring when you're a teenager with nowhere to go and nothing to do. So maybe you try your hand at demon summoning, just to pass the time. But which demon are you going to call? Eh, doesn't matter. Whoever's closest. You'll just open up the infernal phone line and see what you get, right? What's the worst that could happen?
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 263





	A Friday Night in Swindon Town

**Author's Note:**

> I truly don't even know where this came from. Opened a word doc to write something completely different and this happened instead. I just really love Crowley interacting with humans, especially kids and teens, so I decided to run with it. Something silly and cheerful and hopefully fun. Please enjoy!

“What the fuck?!” Crowley snarled, beating his fists against the invisible barrier of the circle, testing its strength. Clueless as the two teenagers in front of him might appear, whoever had cast their magic had done it right. Crowley wasn’t going anywhere. 

To their credit, they both took a nervous step backward at Crowley’s violent outburst. At least they were smart enough to know when to be scared. He decided a different tack might be in order. 

“Oh, guys. Come on. Really?” He said, letting the angry grimace on his face melt into what he could only hope might read as a reassuring smile. From the horrified looks on their faces, he wasn’t sure it was coming across. “Demon summoning is so 1973. Don’t you guys have anything better to do? PlayStation? TikTok?” He frowned. “Is beer pong still a thing with you lot?”

“I can’t believe that actually worked,” the one with the nose ring said, elbowing the other in the ribs. 

“Wow…” the second gaped.

“Of course it worked. I told you I knew what I was doing.” 

From the back of the room, a third member of the group that Crowley hadn’t yet noticed was stepping forward. She was wearing a black _Perfect Circle_ hoodie and dark jeans. 

Crowley huffed. “Trent Reznor wannabes, the lot of ‘em.”

The girl stopped in her tracks, her face going white. “Excuse me?” 

Crowley shrugged. “Don’t blame the messenger. S’just truth. He’s _one_ guy. And do you know how many instruments he plays? They had to rebrand what, three separate times and still never got above third tier?” He shook his head. “Sad.”

“You—”

“Hey,” One of the boys reached out to steady her. Crowley couldn’t help but grin in honest respect. He was fairly sure she’d been genuinely ready to square up with a demon. Whom she’d just summoned. On a Friday night in… Wait, where the fuck was he, anyway?

“Is this Swindon?” He asked, looking around the modest living room.

The remaining boy before him adjusted his glasses, nodding. “Yes, sir; Mister Demon.”

“Don’t call him that!” The girl shouted. “And don’t tell him anything. Don’t tell him your names!”

Crowley frowned, humming in confusion. “Why not?”

“Because there’s power in names,” she all but spit at him. “As if you didn’t know that.”

“Oh,” Crowley gaped. “Yeah. S’true, I guess. But, I mean…” He looked skywards, listening out for any hint of thunder. He thought he heard something then. Maybe a crackle? “That doesn’t really mean anything. You ever notice how people always say that, but… what is this supposed power? What would I do with it, if I did know your names? You summoned _me_. I just want to go home and get back to my _Harry Potter_ marathon. Things finally come on telly, all in one long night — figures I’d get bloody summoned by some amateur witches right in the middle of it.” 

He leaned on the invisible wall of the circle, confident now that he definitely heard the sound of distant lightning just then. “You lot are about the right age. What do you think? Best one of the bunch? I’d vote _Prisoner of Azkaban_ or… maybe _Order of the Phoenix_. That was a good one, that.”

The girl gaped at him, looking personally offended. “JK Rowling is trash.”

“Yeah,” The boy with the lip ring agreed, nodding. “Proper trash.”

“Transphobic trash,” agreed the little one with the glasses.

Crowley propped one hand on his hip, blinking. “Well, yeah. Obviously. But the movies are still alright. Death of the author, and all that?”

“The books were better.” The girl eyed Crowley up and down, frowning in disapproval. Whatever she had intended to summon, Crowley was clearly not meeting her standards.

“Well,” he sighed. “My boyfriend is always saying the first one is the best — _Philosopher’s Stone_. Can you believe that? I’m like…” He spread his hands wide and scoffed, inviting them to agree this was clearly madness. “Are you kidding me? Out of the whole series, your favorite is the first one? Before the story even really gets off the ground? Ridiculous.”

The girl squinted at him, suspicious. “You have a boyfriend?”

“Yeah,” Crowley shrugged, like it was no big deal. Like he didn’t get a delightful little chill down his spine every time he got to say that out loud. A singular crack of lightning shot across the night sky, illuminating all the windows and making the humans jump in surprise. “Here he comes now.”

Next thing he knew, a mighty crash shot through the house, and half the living room was missing. Hurricane force winds were howling, knocking furniture over and sweeping potted geraniums out into the dimly moonlit night. Crowley suddenly found himself quite satisfied with where he was, trapped inside the circle. Rain pelted the room, hail clattered against hardwood floors, and the three teenagers cowered in one corner, screaming. The girl was the first to get to her feet, squinting to see what was causing the cataclysmic destruction.

A fireball with wings appeared in the shattered wake of what had been the eastern wall of the modest midcentury home, and spoke. “In the name of God Almighty, I command thee—”

“All right, all right!” Crowley shouted over the howling wind and rumbling thunder. “They get it, Aziraphale! It’s fine! I’m fine!” He waved his arms, as if the angel could somehow not see him, illuminated in the soft reddish glow of the summoning circle where it still hummed with magical energy. “Right here!”

The fireball flickered away, becoming a man-shaped being still glowing white with simmering holy energy. Crowley’s favorite man-shaped being, as it happened. Still, even as the thunderstorm dissipated into nothing, and the turning wheels of flame at Aziraphale’s back were sucked away into the ethereal plane, Crowley realized the angel must still be enough to strike fear into the hearts of most mortals. Ones with any sense, anyway. 

Firstly, he had what one might describe as… too many eyes. A superfluous number of eyes. They blinked in unison all over his face and neck and the small portion of his forearms that were exposed by the loosely flowing sleeves of his bright white robes. 

“That’s him?” The girl asked, the only one who had taken her feet after all. The two boys cowered at her feet, and Crowley thought one of them, the one with the lip ring, was crying. “Angelica, make it stop,” he whimpered into her shins. “This was a bad idea!”

She hissed, shooting her gaze at Crowley. “Fuck! Mic—” She caught herself, sighing. “Now he knows my name, genius!”

Crowley tried to restrain himself, but quickly gave up to throw his head back, cackling. “You’re joking,” he said once he’d composed himself. “You mean to tell me your witch mother named you _Angelica_?” He shook his head. “I’m so sorry. That is truly diabolical.”

“Witch… Mother?” Angelica squinted. “My mum’s not a witch. She’s an insurance agent.”

“The fuck she is,” Crowley laughed. “You’ve got witch blood in your veins, girl. Clearly.”

The sound of a throat being politely cleared across the room brought that line of conversation to an abrupt halt. 

“Begging your pardon,” said Aziraphale, “But may I ask precisely what is going on here?”

The attempt at friendliness was somewhat ruined by the flickering embers still burning at the tips of Aziraphale’s fingers, and the bright blue eyes dancing across the backs of his outstretched hands. 

“What’s going on here is angel girl is gonna let me out of this little light box so we can go home and finish our movie night.” Crowley clapped his hands together impatiently. “Come on, angel witch girl. Let’s go. Hop to it.”

Angelica sighed, crossing the room to pick up a thick leather-bound book lodged between the sofa and the wall. It looked heavy. Aziraphale eyed it curiously as she approached the circle, laying it open on the floor at Crowley’s feet and flipping through it to find the right page. 

“We were just bored,” she muttered. 

Crowley leaned forearms and elbows against the glowing wall of his circle, looking down at her with a sympathetic frown. “No, no; I get it. Swindon. What are you gonna do?”

She paused to glare up at him. “We don’t even have cable.”

Crowley winced, looking up to catch Aziraphale’s eye where he still stood across the room, looking slightly out of place in his glowing white robes. At least the extra sets of eyes were beginning to blink away. 

“Angel, you hear that? They don’t even have cable. That’s messed.” 

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow, clearly unfazed by this information.

“Less than a century long lifespan on this wretched Earth, and you don’t even get Animal Planet? That’s... truly awful. M’sorry to hear it. Really, I am.”

“All right,” she said, smoothing the worn pages of the book flat and scanning down the page with one long black fingernail. “Here it is.”

Crowley pushed off the wall of the circle and stood in the center, lining his feet up with the glowing runes on the floor. 

“Demon, demon, summoned here. The end of thy usefulness draws near.”

“That’s rude,” Crowley pouted.

She paused to shoot him a withering glare. 

“Right.” He shook his head. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt. Please, carry on.”

“Demon, demon, creature of Hell.”

“Former,” Crowley hissed under his breath.

“Thou hast served thy purpose well.”

“Ooh, even rhymes. S’fun.”

“Demon, demon, of the world beyond. I release thee now from all thy bonds.”

The walls of the summoning circle disappeared with a little _POP_ , letting the cool night air rush into the space, chilling Crowley’s skin. 

“Buh,” he shivered, hugging his arms. “Cold in here.” He turned to Aziraphale, frowning. “Angel, fix their bloody wall for someone’s sake. Lookit the mess you made.”

Aziraphale was frowning back at him, looking less than satisfied. “Are we just going to ignore the fact that you were summoned here against your will in the middle of the night?” He turned toward Angelica, eyes crackling with a glint of flame. “Young lady, what were you thinking?”

Angelica took a small step backwards and glanced at Crowley, only to find him rolling his eyes. “You did not just say that,” he sighed, rubbing one side of his face in embarrassment. 

“Say what?” Aziraphale snapped, growing a new set of wings and starting to rumble with the hum of holy fire unfolding beneath his feet again. 

“Young lady?” Crowley sneered. “Are you her rude old uncle, or what?”

“Uhh,” Angelica took a decided step behind Crowley, putting out her hands in a fruitless effort to diffuse the tension. “I don’t… We didn’t mean to…”

“Oh,” Aziraphale scoffed, “You’re going to hide behind him, then? The demon?” As he spoke, the ground had begun to crumble beneath his feet, Earth falling away into nothingness, flames dancing from beneath his robes as an array of all-seeing eyes surrounded his head in a sort of creepy monstrous circlet. 

“Isn’t he a demon, too?” One of the boys whispered to the other. “He’s really scary…”

“What?” Aziraphale asked, only it came out more of a roar, causing what remained of the house to tremble under the thunderous sound of his voice. “No! I am an angel, obviously.”

The boy in glasses covered his head, whimpering. 

“Angel, stop it!” Crowley shouted over the rumbling of the minor earthquake radiating from Aziraphale’s feet. “You forget how fucking terrifying you are!” 

He crossed the room, batting at the holy embers smoldering on Aziraphale’s shoulders, snuffing it out before it could really get going again. “Oh,” he recoiled. “Fuck!”

The eyes, the fire, the multiple towering sets of wings, the low rumbling earthquake — all of it fell away in an instant as Aziraphale reached up to grab Crowley’s hands. “Crowley!” He exclaimed, in a perfectly normal if urgent voice, “What are you doing? Holy fire will burn you, you idiot!”

Crowley stuck a slightly reddening thumb in his mouth, sucking at the burn. “Ow. Yeah, I know. Well, if you didn’t insist on carrying on so, I—”

“You mustn’t be so reckless,” Aziraphale said, pulling Crowley’s hands away to turn them over in his own, fretfully searching for any serious injury. “You might have been really hurt, my dear, and then I— Oh, I’d never forgive myself, if I—”

Crowley sighed, letting the angel take his face between perfectly manicured and normal looking hands, turning it one way and then the other, examining Crowley’s cheeks for any sign of damage. “Angel,” he muttered. “M’fine…” 

As Aziraphale’s hands traveled thoroughly over Crowley’s shoulders, chest, pawed at his waist and hips for any evidence of harm, someone snickered from the back of the room. 

Crowley turned to look, frowning at the three teenagers standing at the far end of the now obliterated living room. “Yes?” He said. “You have a problem?”

Angelica stepped forward, the huge magical book clutched tightly to her chest. “Yeah, we do. Your boyfriend wrecked my house.”

Aziraphale froze, eyebrows rising toward his hairline. “Boyfriend?”

Crowley winced. “Uh… I may have—”

“I thought we were using ‘husband’ now.” Aziraphale looked a little crushed.

Crowley glanced at the kids, trying to keep his voice down. “Yeah, well. I like ‘boyfriend.’ Got a fun ring to it.” He shrugged. “Anyway, we’ve got the rest of forever to be husbands; can’t we do the boyfriend thing just for a little while? And I told you, I still want a ceremony. You haven’t even given me a ring yet, angel.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened, and his mouth fell open. “You said you didn’t want one.”

“Yeah, well…” Crowley kicked some gravel that had blown in from the garden, scuffing his shoe. “Maybe changed my mind.”

“Oh, good Lord,” Aziraphale spoke under his breath. “Can we possibly discuss this at a later time?”

Crowley shrugged, crossing his arms. “You brought it up.”

Aziraphale sighed, finally turning to take in the destruction around them. “Oh,” he said. “Did make a bit of a mess, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, you did,” Crowley huffed. “Fix their bloody house, for God’s sake. What’s wrong with you?”

Aziraphale had the decency to look chagrined, and set to work miracling sections of the house back into order — snapping fingers as he walked through the living room and kitchen. “Was just worried…” He mumbled as he went. “You disappear in the middle of popping corn; can’t expect me not to be a _little_ concerned.”

“Ah,” Crowley sighed, catching Angelica’s eye with a grin. “Popcorn. That does sound nice, right about now. You lot got a telly?”

“Uh,” Angelica clutched her book a little closer to her chest. “Told you. We haven’t got cable. It only gets the three local channels, and even those are a bit dodgy.”

“Yeah,” the boy with the lip ring stepped forward, finally deciding it was safe to speak, Crowley supposed. “S’all static, most of the time.”

Aziraphale snapped his fingers, changing his white robes out for his regular attire and bowtie. “Oh,” he said cheerfully. He snapped his fingers again, this time in the general direction of the television in the corner. “Shouldn’t be a problem anymore.”

The television switched on with a little click, and the screen came to life, displaying a blond boy shooting by on a broomstick, a dark haired boy with glasses chasing him close behind. 

“Ooh,” Crowley exclaimed, climbing over the back of the couch to sit. “It’s the Quidditch final. Yessss! We haven’t missed it.” He waved the teens over to join him. “Come on kids — you gotta see this.”

Angelica huffed a laugh, but was smiling. “Everyone’s seen this. Thousand times, at least.”

The boy with the glasses shuffled up behind her, hands in his pockets. “Actually, I never have.” The other two turned to look at him in open shock. “Mum always said it was evil,” he shrugged. “From the Devil. Wouldn’t let me.”

Crowley sat up straighter, peeking over his glasses to catch the boy’s eye. “Well, you can have it on good authority straight from me — wasn’t one of ours. Our lot — we’re really just not all that creative, at the end of the day.”

“Oh, I don’t know if I’d agree with that,” Aziraphale said, rounding the couch with a massive bowl of popcorn clutched between his hands. “You’ve certainly always had quite the imagination, my dear.” He smiled, passing the popcorn over to Angelica.

“Yeah,” Crowley frowned. “Well, I don’t count myself in that.” He looked up at Aziraphale as he settled on the couch next to him. “Thanks, angel.” He cleared his throat, glancing away before his cheeks turned bright red. “Right, so. We’ve got angel witch girl. _Angelica_ ,” he smirked, enunciating every syllable of her name. “What are your names, then?”

The boys looked to Angelica for approval. She nodded, shrugging her shoulders before shoving a handful of popcorn into her mouth. “Go ahead,” she mumbled. “I guess they’re not going to kill us.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale looked taken aback. “Heavens, no. Whatever gave you that idea?”

Everyone in the room, Crowley included, turned to look at him in silence. 

Aziraphale tugged at the hem of his waistcoat and looked at the floor. “Point taken.”

“I’m Michael,” said the boy with the lip ring. 

“And, uh…” The boy with the glasses glanced up shyly. “I’m… Harry.”

“No way,” Crowley exclaimed. “Harry! Yer a wizard, Harry.” He pointed at the telly, laughing. “Let’s see how you do.”

They all laughed and turned their attention to the television, where Harry Potter had just captured the golden snitch. Harry smiled, and he thought he did rather bear a resemblance to the boy in the movie who was now being lifted onto his classmates’ shoulders, triumphant.

**Author's Note:**

> **[Tumblr](http://vgersix.tumblr.com) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/ljvaughnwrites)**


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